Caterwauling

“Little girls don’t know how to be sweet girls.
Mama didn’t teach me.
Little boys don’t know how to treat little girls.
Daddy didn’t show me.

Face down, on top of your bed.
Oh why did I give it up to you?
Is this how I shoot myself up high,
Just high enough to get through?

Again, the false affection.
Again, we break down inside.
Love save the empty.
Love save the empty, and save me.”

– Erin McCarley, “Love Save the Empty”

Newest earworm. Enjoy!

So, I did a grown-up thing and bought a dining room set yesterday. Plus a matching baker’s rack, which is something I’ve always wanted.

Of course, that means emptying and breaking down the nine thousand boxes in the dining room without moving them to the living room, where there’s also a mighty pile of those. (Thanks to an ant problem, we have stacked boxes and put Kadie’s food dishes on top of them.)

(Another random parenthetical — I addressed my rent check to the “Ant Capital of the World.” Think that will get my message across?)

I’ve not wanted to invest any money into my apartments, but it’s time. I just thought if I could get rid of the UEOEH, I could feel free to decorate again. I mean, she never has any money or food, so anytime I spend money on myself, I feel guilty that she’s sitting around moping, lonely and hungry.

Yes, the view IS wonderful from the cross — funny you should ask!

I haven’t had a dining set since, well, I think 2003 when I moved from my first apartment in Alexandria, Va., to the second. I got rid of the chairs (Maddie had destroyed them) and kept the table. The table served many appetizers over the course of many parties quite well. But when I left Virginia in 2006, the table and the couch stayed behind.

It took me until about 2008 to replace the couch, and now 2010 for the dining set. It’s not that I have been searching for the perfect pieces but, rather, spending that much money in one transaction sends me diving toward paper bags to regulate my breathing.

Besides, I’d rather book one of those $150 Palm-Beach-to-Atlantis weekend cruises and spend four times that on booze for two days. (That’d be for three glasses of wine. Total.) I’m more about investing in experiences, in technology, in trips to Marshall’s for purses and dresses.

There are four chairs with this set. One for me, for Kadie, for Laura and for George. Like one of my beloveds said yesterday, “Oh, wow, a dining room for all the meals you WON’T be having with the UEOEH!”

I just figured it would be an impetus to get all the boxes out of the dining room. Which, worked sort of magically and I threw away 12 boxes yesterday. Score! Eight thousand more to go! (99% are NOT mine.)

It wasn’t that expensive, but I do go nuts when I make any kind of purchase. It’s a carry-over from my not-employed days (six years ago!). Oy. I remember investing in my apartment back then and, of course, all the tags had been ripped off of all the new stuff when the income ran out. That was great fun.

But I always try to buy something significant to mark milestones in my life. This was a purchase I’ve needed to make for a while, yes. But I also made a major decision for the business that circumvented emotion and friendship and was truly in the best interest of the company. It was a grown-up moment. So I deserve a grown-up dining room. Damn it!

And of course, after this minor expenditure, the car rewarded me by stalling out at the drive-thru today. I went to Mickey D’s for a diet Coke and the car started drifting in reverse. It had never done that before! I didn’t know what to do. Of course, I figured it out REAL quick. But it was no rush — it took 33 minutes to get to the pickup window from the order screen. Apparently they were frying up one McNugget at a time or something!

I’ve had my phone off all weekend. Every time I turn it on to send a text, I am amazed at how many calls I’ve missed. Popular, I never dreamed I was. I’m not answering. Not in the mood. Not even listening to the pile of messages. Frankly, save for an hour on the computer today at work, I am out of commission till tomorrow morning.

I’m also laying low on Facebook. Seriously, I need a break. Not from the world, nor from everyone. Just a few people. It’s like my mom — I got a text from her the other day telling me “I miss us!” and I refrained from saying, “I miss you living four hours away!” I just have to bite my tongue and wait it out till I can choke out a few minutes of getting along.

“Sad boy, you stare up at the sky
When no one’s looking back at you.
You wear your every last disguise;
You’re flying, then you fall through.

Again, the false attention.
Again, you’re breaking inside.
Love save the empty.
Love save the empty, save me.”

I’m getting ready for church now. Apparently Foursquare coronated me the mayor of it. Say hello to the holiest woman in South Florida — the Mother Theresa of the Palm Beaches. I half-wonder whether the only reason I’m going is to retain my title. There’s no message tonight — just music. And that sounds pretty much like the perfect end to a stressful week and weekend to me!

Downtown Miami

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Lady L and I road-tripped to Little Havana in Miami today, to try the famed Versailles’ Cuban sammiches. We also got fried plantains, cafe con leche, guava cookies and a delicious Spanish Baguette sammich (with chorizo and Manchego. Dear God, YUM).

We also spent the afternoon with her friends D and L, and their precious five-month-old daughter. Who is by far the cutest baby I have ever, ever seen.

And of course, there’s that stupid twinge that I want one. But I liked her because she’s adorable, she was quiet and cooing and ridiculously enjoyable in her stylish outfit in her bouncy chair. Toss in poopy diapers, a meltdown and the teenage years and, yeah, that kills the baby fantasy REAL quick.

So I decided I will be a foster parent. I can keep a kid during infant and toddler years. Then I can hand the kid back to its (rehabilitated) parents when it starts to need shit.

I had this long, ridiculous conversation (argument?) with the UEOEH yesterday. And I bottom-lined it that she needs to exit, stage left, pronto. I cannot even look at her anymore. I just want her gone.

I hear that a cousin is very angry with me — that I don’t take “good enough care” of my mother. The FUCK? Apparently she told my mother that had my mom gone to live with her, she would have given her access to health care and helped her get a job.

I’m like, A) WTF is she withholding said help for, and B) how soon can I put your ass on a plane?

I guess the offer expired four years ago. Apparently said cousin had asked me, casketside, if I wanted her to “take” my mom and I said no. So this is all MY fault. (God DAMN the UEOEH needs a new fucking tune to sing.)

I said, well, why does anybody need to TAKE her? Who the fuck thought that four years after my grandfather died, she’d still be sitting on her ass, watching the Food Network in my master bedroom? If I knew she would still be more dependent than an infant, fuck YEAH I would have said to banish her to the Midwest, never to be seen again. I didn’t want my cousin to be burdened … but I never DREAMED I would be, either.

Anyway, that was probably the highlight of the two-hour conversation. I seriously just can’t take another minute of this and I don’t know why she doesn’t shove the fuck off now that I have clarified (for the 40th time) that I don’t want her here.

She says that life is so short and that I will regret not being nice to my mother. I said, no, life is so short that I will regret having to waste so much time having her underfoot and not doing the things I want or enjoying my apartment because she won’t leave it.

I’m at my wits’ end on a lot of things right now. Her, first and foremost, but after enjoying the beauty and luxury of D and L’s apartment, I think luxury is what I want. No, I know it. I’m tired of struggle and annoyance and worry and waiting. I’ve done enough of each.

I think I see a clear path to the life I want. But I need to put all the distractions in check. I rediscovered my motivation. And damn it, I’m over this plateau. I’m gearing up to move up.

It’s been a busy weekend. I reconnected with some folks last night. Really had a wonderful time. It reminded me that there are some really intelligent, competent, loving and downright extraordinary people in my life. And that while I often think God is torturing me by putting all my friends in other cities, He’s done just fine by having great people right here for me.

At church tonight, Pastor John said something that I actually wrote down: “How can you be in a love relationship with someone you don’t spend time with?” It was about making time every day to hang with God, but it hit me on a variety of levels. I don’t spend the time with God that He deserves.

I was also thinking that my luck always seems to change for the better when Lady L and I are hanging out. We have “parking karma” and “seating karma” and “travel karma” and all kinds of positive events that we chalk up to having collective good karma.

When I’m with the UEOEH, the meal is always wrong, someone walks into her and dislocates her shoulder, the traffic sucks, there are no good parking spots and, well, I have to pick up the check anyway. I’d much rather pay for a great experience.

The argument with UEOEH yesterday started over her saying she was dressed and ready to go out. And my reply was my usual disinterested, “Good for you.” Which turned into her asking me if I’m embarrassed to be seen with her. (The hell?!?!) And I said, point-blank, that I can’t stand being around her and I shouldn’t have to be subjected to entertaining her on top of everything else when I hate being in the same zip code with her these days.

I don’t know. I feel like I should start focusing — really focusing — on work and travel. That’s it. Just put (and keep) the blinders on and bust my butt to afford the rewards I want.

Let’s face it, UEOEH isn’t going anywhere. I’m not going to have a warm body in my bed anytime soon. I’m not going to fit into the smallest size in my closet (that I was wearing at this time last year. Le sigh). I’ve got to just do what I know how to do … and that’s to work, and to leave. At least I’m good at something.

2010 wasn’t the year of “happy” that I expected. It was one of change, though, and that’s just fine. 2011 will be the happy year. I just have to lay the groundwork right now first.

Palm at night

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

In the midst of evaluating employees, naturally I am on the list to BE evaluated. Lucky me!

My boss is after me to be tougher. She wants me to be, at work, the same Goddess I am when I start talking about my mother. That’s when all the “dipshits” and “dumbasses” and “motherfuckers” start flying out of my mouth.

THAT’S the Goddess she loves. That’s the one she wants running the first floor. And not just so that she doesn’t look like so much of the Wicked Witch in comparison to Glenda the Good Witch. (Her analogy, not mine!)

I like that we’re a team, running the division. I do like being “nice” although I see what she means — it’s draining when people don’t put forth their best effort and I’m the asshole trying to coax it out of them when I should be a LOT more bottom-line about it.

But this is good. This is the mentorship I never really got. My leadership ability came out of Jack Welch, Peter Drucker and Patrick Lencioni books, for the most part.

And all my leadership roles have had me in “doer” mode — i.e., you never really manage to improve the PROCESS because you’re so immersed in it that you can’t stop a train that’s got momentum and no functioning brakes.

So, whenever I’m being a wuss, she’s asking, “So how’s your mom?” and that unleashes the hellfire and fury of the demons.

I swear, that woman (the Ultra Extra Over Extended Houseguest) is going to be the death of me. And if she’s the reason why I go to hell instead of heaven, well, at least we’ll be in different places for eternity!!!

In the middle of the night, I found candy under my pillow. After a big argument about how she needs a dorm fridge in her room if she keeps insisting on having sweets in the house (as I am a terrible 2 a.m. snacker and fan of all things sweet). Which is why I’ve put on *mumblemumble* pounds that I’d worked SO HARD to lose.

Of course, last time I had this discussion with her, it was, “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” The same asshole who pushed a huge piece of cake in my face last night and I flat-out told her to go to hell in response.

Now, this is the sad part. A friend of mine’s family threw her a birthday party last night. With candles and a gourmet cake and whatnot. Fuck, I don’t even think I remembered to text her “Happy Birthday.” Or maybe I did it “from” George the dog, like she texts me as my cat Kadie. (Which annoys the FUCK out of me, thanks.)

I almost felt bad that someone else’s family treats her better than I do. But they can buy her a cake; I pay her fucking rent and bills.

My boss suggested I hand her a one-way plane ticket to Pittsburgh on Dec. 31, to show I’m serious about her getting her shit together and going the fuck away from me. I’m not opposed to this idea.

Of course, it all comes down to the fact that the UEOEH is perfectly wiling to go anywhere I put her … as I’m paying for it, after all.

And that’s my problem. I don’t want to pay for it anymore.

Of course, my friends say that a paltry amount of $250 could probably rent a nice ratbag apartment in Pittsburgh.

I watch other people who only get motivated in dire situations. Pending homelessness? Yeah, time to get a job. Tired of Ramen noodles? Perhaps it’s time to work harder and get a promotion.

Most others are complacent their whole lives. I don’t know why I have this feeling of something stuck in my craw all the time — I always want to be better, I want more, I want change and I want it NOW.

Well, except when it comes to being fat. I like blaming that on my mother. Hell, I blame everything ELSE on her!

I was just telling someone that every wish I make is for her to meet a man. Even on my OWN birthday cupcake, it was “Please oh please, God, let mom meet a man and marry him ASAP.”

I don’t even wish for myself, people. And I’m as horny and as cranky as it gets. If anyone needs a man, it’s ME!

Today she was stalking me as I brewed my first cup of coffee. (Grrr.) She asked if I slept in. Uh, it’s Saturday and it’s 7:30 a.m. I’m usually in the car by now. WTF do you think?

I ignored her but of course she kept talking. Getting hints ain’t her thing.

Basically she said she was just about to come in and wake me up when I got up. (And I would have hit her with the candy I found under my pillow, I swear.)

I said why on EARTH would you wake me up? (O HAI I go to bed late on weekends, Fool.)

She was afraid I’d be late for the plans I made today.

Now, we can all go, “Awwwwww!” and think, “Goddess really IS mean!” Or we can put it into context that, at age 36, I know how to set a FUCKING ALARM.

*blood-curdling scream*

And this is why I am nice to our employees. This is why I do not hop on a plane to Baltimore and KILL the people who don’t “get it” and make me nuts with their repeated mistakes. Because I am already going to hell for the evil, evil thoughts that pervade my entire being when That Woman simply speaks. I have to be nice to SOMEBODY, yes?

And if her friends love her so much, why don’t THEY adopt her for a while? Maybe I’d remember what might have once made her lovable and maybe recover some of that feeling again.

Or I may change my phone number and move. Whichever. At least I’d like to have the option!

Lady L and I went to church tonight. I’ve missed Sunday night services; it’s been forever since I’ve attended.

I was even telling my old pastor today that I don’t make it to church much anymore. Not sure why I said it. I do find beauty every day and everywhere, and I thank God for letting me experience it. But maybe I’m at a point in my life where I’ve stopped seeking God and started trusting him somewhat.

I say “somewhat” because the UEOEH situation continues to drive me mad. She never takes me seriously that I want her out of here. And now that we’re in car insurance hell, I don’t really care if she doesn’t have any. She’s lost everything. I guess nothing has been important to her. This should be. And of course it will go into the “It’s your fault!” and “You’re mean!” pile like everything else.

My church zen wore off after eight minutes at home, when she banged on my door to babble. I cut her off to say I wanted to move to a studio apartment, and where is she going to go? “Under a bridge” is the answer. I said, look, it’s been three years of sitting on your ass — I don’t see why this has to be a forever thing. Am I supposed to have you in my house for the next 40 years?

She said she’ll go wherever I put her. And that’s the thing — why do I have to pay for it? I don’t mind helping. I’m GLAD to help. Just get out.

So she starts boo-hooing that I’ve eroded her confidence completely and she can’t do anything. That she’s been putting in applications but nobody wants to hire her. It’s ALL MY FAULT for being MEAN to her!!!

I went back to a tune I hadn’t sung in a while — what about volunteering? Nobody turns down free help. I mean, I got each of my last FIVE jobs because I knew somebody. You aren’t going to meet anyone, sitting your ass in front of the Food Network all day. (But, alas, I’m MEAN!)

Incidentally, I’m watching “In Her Shoes” tonight for the thousandth time about sisters in Philadelphia and Delray Beach. One’s a big old screwed-up mooch who gets kicked out because she is her own problem to solve, not her sister’s. Damn, I love this movie. And the scenery is familiar so even better.

I don’t really want to move, BTW. I just want the place to myself. I want her out.

I know she’s got problems. She needs therapy. She started sobbing over overpaying for something today. I know money is scarce for her. I know she can budget like no one I know. But she’s never had the drive to make money. The rent has always been paid, you know? Someone always saves the day.

Lately I’ve thought about having kids. Damn 36. But if she gave up a life to raise me and then figured she could be dependent on me when I got old enough, fuck that noise. Think again. I don’t ever want to feel like my kid owes me. And I WOULD be old as dirt if I had a kid now.

And it seems that all my friends who are in financial dire straits have the “having kids” thing in common. Sure, they’re rewarding. Eventually. After they get a job. But what about in the meantime when they’re crying, screaming, needy little monsters and Momma doesn’t have enough money for both pinot noir AND back-to-school uniforms? Sorry kid — we’ll alter last year’s!

Anyway, Pastor Todd had said this morning that every person God puts in your life is a gift — even if you wish they came with a gift receipt. And I see mom sitting here being sad about everything — money, missing her parents, knowing I can’t stand her, being helpless, being in pain, being in debt, worrying about everything, being unemployable, etc. Fuck, I’d be depressed, too. I don’t mean to take that away from her.

But the low-cost/free resources in Florida for health care seem really good. But you have to be a resident and guess who keeps dragging her feet on getting a driver’s license? Etc. That sort of thing is what infuriates me. Take a step and I’ll help you take the next two. Sit on your ass and I’ll, so help me God, turn off the cable.

I know she misses her parents. I wonder if I’ll be the same way when she’s gone. I forget pretty much everything about them, sad to say. She reminds me of little things, which is nice. But in the grand scheme of things, aren’t we supposed to move on and live our lives? Like the whole Sept. 11, 2001, adopted motto: “Never Forget.” As if any of us can help but remember. But it hurts a little less every year. Wounds do heal, even if they scar.

I was realizing the message at tonight’s sermon was sort of aimed at me, and sort of not really. I told Lady L that when I first appeared at the church about a year or so ago, I was in a bad place. Spending a year working in the Den of Iniquity will do that to a person. Couple the mom situation and it’s a wonder I didn’t get ammo at Wal-Mart and blow my widdle brains out. And every sermon felt like it was aimed at me — get thee out of despair, child.

And today, I realize I don’t have much to despair about. Other than the seemingly permanent presence of the Food Network-watching gargoyle, I’m good. I have a great friend in Lady L. I <3 her fur-child George. I am in a position of power at work. I’ve got someone looking out for my emotional needs and providing much-needed daydreaming material. I’m about to get another stamp in the passport book in less than six weeks. And we’ve got a road trip planned for Saturday — after I attend a dog-adoption event. It’s all good, really.

But I see how happy I am when I’m by myself in Lady L’s palace with George. Or, of course, when she’s there with us. Naturally! Without her, I would never have gotten to try all the restaurants in the area. Or gotten in the car to visit the Keys or St. Auggie’s. Or to see New Orleans, which we’re doing later this year. Or, for that matter, to have had the fateful happy-hour meeting with my boss before she became my boss.

Lady L has been my lucky charm. Thanks to her, not only do I not have to stare at the UEOEH every fucking day and minute of my life, but the UEOEH recognizes that I’m just not available to bother anymore. I probably have plans with Lady L, she assumes. And, well, she’s right!

Is it so wrong to want to have a perfect life? A robust 401(k) — that is, a prayer of retiring — money, love, travel, peace, social interaction when I want it and silence when I don’t, a job that I actually kick ass in, and a voluntary relationship with my mother without her forcing herself down my throat. Do I really ask for that much?

So, as Pastor John was telling us tonight, Joseph (of the Technicolor Dreamcoat variety) had a shit life. Sold into slavery twice, Pharaoh’s wife kept seducing him and he kept avoiding her in the name of staying true to his God, and all kinds of other crap. Yet he had God’s favor. And everyone around him and even the crops were blessed because of him. Am I Joseph here, without seeing the blessings and simply feeling cursed for the aggravations? If I’m so blessed, why doesn’t it rub off on UEOEH? Why does her dark cloud continue to storm on me?

The good news is that I have gotten rid of all the toxic people in my life. And I’m no longer getting all the hellfire and torture that came along with knowing them. So God’s got my back there. I dunno. I guess I’m wishing the wait would pay off sooner rather than later. Even though I know we’re storing up riches in heaven with all the nice things we do here, I selfishly want to enjoy my time here, too.

Oh well. Fewer than 48 hours till Lady L and I wash down what’s sure to be another insane week with the best mojitos in town. I can’t look forward to UEOEH getting the hint and leaving, but you can set your watch by me numbing the pain with alcohol.

Watercolor skies

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

So, I forgot to pay rent this month.

No big deal, really. The miserable whore downstairs usually threatens me with eviction when I ask for a repair. I can just say I don’t live here!

We have a saying at the office, “I barely work here!” When you get hit with a curveball or a problem seemingly too big to solve, that’s always a good first answer — kind of like cramming a Twix bar into your mouth when you “need a minute.”

But for me, I barely do live here.

I’ve spent the last five weekends elsewhere. And I’ll be gone tomorrow through next weekend, so let’s say it’s seven in a row.

My friend Lady L, who I am usually with or, at least, staying at her place while she’s AWOL, had some interesting things to say last weekend.

Usually, I scoot out of her place when she’s coming home. I load up the car, tidy up the mess I’ve made, walk the puppy and I’m gone. It’s like I was never there.

Last weekend was the UEOEH’s birthday. I had told her that I’d come home and take her to dinner at her favorite place. She ended up e-mailing me (Internet connection is FABULOUS atop the cross) to just hang out with Lady L and to forget about her.

You don’t gotta ask ME twice, yo!

So, I did stay and wait for my friend. And she was … grateful, to say the least.

She asked why I always vamoose when she’s on her way home. And I thought I was doing her a favor.

You see, I always come home to a UEOEH sitting around the house like a fucking gargoyle. Her fucking TV is always on. And I HATE noise. There’s a reason why I don’t have kids, people. Silence is my friend.

I miss the days of coming home from a trip and just having peace and quiet and familiarity. My house. My stuff. My cat. My pillow/bed/couch. Not answering to anyone or anything other than myself. True recovery.

My friend was feeling kind of the opposite. She actually welcomed having someone to talk to, to share pizza with (yum!), to decompress with.

I *could* have that in the UEOEH, but I can’t look at her with anything much less than disgust anymore, so I don’t share. I just go to my room and shut the door so I don’t have to hear her TV or her mouth.

Or the way she drags her feet (literally) so that I hear her fucking flip-flops flip-flopping all over the fucking floors. Lift your goddamned feet, woman!!! (And take them elsewhere. Thanks.)

Or the way she complains about everything — the ants, the mold, the maintenance, the drug dealer next door. As I just told her four minutes ago, MOVE. You don’t like it? Nobody wants you here anyway. GAH. LEAVE.

Lady L had observed that I was truly happy, just sitting on my laptop (doing my expense report. Ugh) and hanging with the puppy. I was calm and relaxed and very peaceful. She travels to the ends of the earth to find her zen, and I find it right on her leather chair with her beloved George at my feet.

Of course, she doesn’t have my dumbass mother living with her either. Who is a lovely person but I am THROUGH. She could fucking hand me a check for a million dollars and I’d still be annoyed that she spoke to me.

Anyway, the real revelation to me is that, yes, I am VERY happy hanging out with George. I miss my kitty, of course. And she slept in my bed last night, like she knows I’m going away again.

Kadie started sleeping with me every night since Maddie died last year. But then I had to move the UEOEH back in, and I have to shut the door to silence her. I don’t need visits at all hours to tell me what she just saw on TV.

So, Kadie can’t be with me or else she will be throwing herself against the door to escape. (Just like her mother!)

Anyway, I miss my Kadie. Hell, I miss my apartment on the water when I’m gone. And it is a damn shame how much I pay to NOT live here. My dipshit mother has the master bedroom with a Roman tub in a bathroom that’s almost the size of my entire bedroom.

She told me her friend just sent her money so she can eat. She is always telling me she isn’t eating. Look, there’s always crap here to eat. Yogurt and fruit and frozen dinners. I don’t replace them if they aren’t gone.

Incidentally, when I was really losing weight? Was when the bitch was working. I was hopeful. I was happy. I was looking forward to the next phase of my life. Now that I’ve gained part of it back and the scale keeps creeping upward, I realize that I have NOTHING to look forward to. That she will NEVER leave so why be thin and attractive to a man? I know it’s my problem, but I still hate her for it.

And in addition to free rent and utilities, she gets an allowance. I tell her not to buy me anything but she always does. Then she gets mad when she runs out of money and I tell her I’m not an ATM. So if her friends are feeling bad for her, then she should go live with them. Really.

Recently, I had a brief discussion with someone of the male variety that involved “moving in” and, my favorite phrase, “temporarily.”

The “old” Goddess had no problem with the prospect of living with someone. Not a roommate — I fucking hate sharing my space. Remember, only child here — I don’t share my toys willingly. But if I’m getting laid regularly, I am open to discussion.

But the resentful Goddess who is never going to get rid of her fucking mother doesn’t want to live with anyone. EVER. She rather LIKES her long-distance relationships.

Sure, nothing would beat having a nice Florida boy nearby for some skin-on-skin action and, more importantly, cozy comfort. But for all the boys who were damaged by their childhood, I’m a girl who was damaged by her adulthood.

And that’s one diddle you can’t undo, Homeskillet.

So, yeah, I pay *mumble mumble* a month here, only to live in someone else’s apartment.

And that’s where I find my happiness. Go figure.